


One by One

by AcrobatElle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Speculation for 5x14 but no spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:15:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6261493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcrobatElle/pseuds/AcrobatElle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma heals him.</p><p>No spoilers, but a brief reference to a scene in the 5x14 promo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One by One

It’s not a graceful landing.

Granted, it’s the best Emma can manage after making a diving leap over a mythological river, tackling Killian’s dangling body mid-air and poofing them away in a cloud of white smoke. She crashes on top of him on the bed, a pathetic groan escaping him upon impact, dust flying up from the mattress.

Emma sits up and looks around, gasping, grateful to see that the Underworld version of her home seems just as empty as her parents’ loft. She shakes with adrenaline and the sudden, bright rush of her magic and the realization of _it worked it actually worked_ and _Killian is here_.

 _Killian_.

He’s near-catatonic beneath her, shallow breaths and half-lidded eyes and blood, so much blood. Her shirt is covered with it, angry red stains that she magics away instantly, her skin crawling with the desire to scrub it all away. She perches herself on the edge of the bed, her shaking hand hovering over his forehead, too scared to touch for how bruised and bloodied he is.

“Killian?”

He doesn’t answer, his one good eye mostly shut and completely unseeing.

She hazards to touch him, a light brush of her fingers over the cheek that doesn’t seem quite as damaged as the rest of his face. A quiet hiss escapes him but he otherwise doesn’t react. She jerks her hand back and looks him over, anger and bile rising in her throat. She can’t even _touch_ him without hurting him, every part of him cut or burned or bruised.

“Killian,” she says again, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice and her tears at bay, praying he can hear her as she leans down to whisper in his ear. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re gonna be okay.”

She breathes deep, clenching and releasing her hands as she looks him over one last time, trying to figure out where to start.

_You can do this._

_You have to do this._

She closes her eyes on one last exhale, nodding to herself before getting to work.

She begins at the top of his head, the nasty gash near his hairline and the caked blood that had dripped to his forehead. Her magic comes easily, humming through her in a warm glow of light, a tiny piece of her being stitched back together just as the wound under her hand does the same. She smiles a little at her handiwork, clean unblemished skin beneath her palm, and she can’t help herself, leaning down to press her lips to his forehead. His eye is next, the swelling disappearing under the smooth sweep of her thumb. Another injury healed, another kiss, her lips a gentle caress on his brow.

The noise he makes when she heals his cheek startles her. It’s not quite pained, just a low hum as his head lolls to the side, his face falling into her hand. He’s still out of it, eyes closed when she says his name once more, but the hope it sparks in her chest spurs her on.

She hesitates when she reaches his split lip, just for a moment, but another flash of magic and he looks like _Killian_ again, the knot in her stomach loosening at the sight of his face now as she remembers it, unmarred and handsome, his eyelashes fanned over his cheeks. When she presses her lips to his he sighs into her mouth, and she allows herself to sink into it for a moment before pulling back.

“Killian?”

His eyes are still closed but he responds with another sigh, deep-seated and weary and tinged with a hint of relief. Her vision blurs when she reaches down to his neck, where it looks like something has _chewed_ on him, _God_ , but she blinks away the wetness long enough to watch the wound knit together neatly under her fingers, everything she couldn’t do for him in Camelot.

It’s a compulsion now, to bow her head and press her mouth to the fragile new skin as she creates it. She lingers at his throat, a sweet reminder of happier times when she’s done this, and when she lifts her head, his eyes slowly flutter open.

“Hey,” she whispers through a watery smile, grateful she can palm his cheek without causing him any more pain.

His smile is a fleeting, tentative thing, but the blue of his eyes is brighter than ever. “Emma.” It amazes her how he can put so much love into her name, reverence in his voice as he tilts his head into her touch. “That feels marvelous.”

She glances down at the rest of his battered body, swallowing back the anger that threatens to surface once more. “I’ll get you healed up in no time,” she promises.

“You’re really here, aren’t you?” His voice is so small, so unlike him.

She has to breathe deep and steady herself before answering, desperate to hold herself together for him. “Yeah,” she says, drawing her fingers over his forehead in what she hopes is a soothing touch. “It’s me.”

  
He seems to take her at her word, glancing around the room. “Where are we?”

“Our house.” The phrase spills from her mouth so easily it startles her.

He smile returns at her choice of words.  “Help me sit up, love.”

“Let me heal you first. I don’t want you to -- “

His hand catches hers. “I want to watch you work,” he tells her, his eyes suddenly intense and pleading. Her breath catches when she realizes -- not the pain he’s in but how much he needs this, to watch her remove the injuries so carelessly inflicted upon him.

She can’t deny him anything.

She slides her hands under his shoulders and lifts as gently as she can, and he can’t stop the groan that escapes him when his tired, damaged muscles engage to help her. He doesn’t complain, though, and toughs it out long enough for Emma to shove a pillow behind him on the headboard. He leans back on it gratefully, collapsing against it with a heavy sigh.

“You ready?” she asks once he’s situated.

He nods, tired and drained, but his eyes are encouraging, as is the slight upturn of his lips.

She reaches up and starts at the buttons on his shirt, her touch light as his skin is slowly revealed to her. She winces when she realizes the fabric is stuck to his flesh with dried blood. She looks up for permission and he gives her a tiny nod, his jaw tightening as he braces himself.

His chest stutters on a pained breath as she pulls the shirt open, and nothing has prepared her for the sight that greets her when his chest and abdomen are fully exposed. She knew there would be blood but the sheer number of lacerations and bruises shocks her, a violent, haphazard pattern across his skin.

“Emma.”

It’s such a startling contrast when she looks up, his face no worse-for-wear while the rest of him remains a battered shell of his former self. It’s what she needs, though, the proof that she can fix this literally staring her in the face.

She manages a smile and leans in, a gentle sigh between them as their lips meet. “You’ve got this,” he murmurs when they part, so much strength underneath his exhaustion.

It bolsters her, his unwavering faith, and she latches onto it as she looks down, making one last appraisal before she begins.

He exhales with relief as she closes the first wound on his chest, letting out a sweet little hum when she places a kiss to his unmarred skin. She works carefully, tending to each injury with her hands and lips, bruises and cuts and burns slowly disappearing between soft words and gentle smiles.

His hand finds its way to her hair as she completes her task, his thumb tracing circles over her temple while the final gash on his ribs disappears in the soft glow of her magic. As with every other trauma she’s mended, she finishes with her lips on his skin.

She looks up at him with a cautious smile and he returns the expression, sitting up fully under his own power and drawing her to him.

His mouth is on hers before she can speak, his hand still in her hair, fingers caressing the back of her head while his lips move with similar intention, soft and slow against hers. Her hands find his face instantly, holding him with the gentlest of care, all too aware of how fragile his body can be in her arms. The thought tightens her throat and her lips still against his, and then his breath hitches, and the dam bursts.

They both break.

She knows there’s still more of him to heal, his back likely just as marred as his front was, but her grip on him is just as crushing as his own. She buries her sobs into his neck while his shoulders shake, dampness against her shoulder where he’s pressed against her.

Emma’s not sure how long they stay like that. Her hiccupping, gasping sobs gradually subside, and his fist at her back relaxes until it’s a firm palm pressing into her spine.

He finds his voice first but they don’t move, unable to pull away from one another. “I got your message.”

“Yeah?” The word is on a relieved laugh that borders on hysterical, but she just buries her fingers in his hair and breathes him in, her nose still in the crook of his neck. “I didn’t think you could hear me.”

“I could,” he assures her. “Were you -- you weren’t alone, were you?”

“No.” She smiles against his skin. “The whole family came down here to get you.” She doesn’t miss the way his arms almost imperceptibly tighten around her. “We should… we should probably get to them. They don’t know where we are.”

“Aye.” He turns his head just enough to press his mouth to her neck, not quite a kiss but intimate and perfect all the same. “Just… in a minute.”

“Yeah,” she breathes, unwilling to let go of him just yet. “Okay.”

They don’t need to talk anymore as they allow themselves a stolen moment, broken but mending slowly in each other’s arms.

 


End file.
